H.  SCOFIELD, 


LIBRARY 


ALONG  THE  WAY 


BY 


MARY    MAPES    DODGE 


"  The  air  th.it  floated  by  ms  seemed  to  say  : 
'  Write  !  ' 
And  so  I  did."  .  .     KF.ATS. 


NEW-YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 
1879 


Copyright,  1879,  by 
MARY   MAPES   DODGE. 


Press  of 
FRANCIS   HART  &  Co. 


Jtc 


Of  the  poems  in  this  book,  many  are  now 
published  for  the  first  time  j  others  have 
appeared  in  various  magazines  .  and  a  few — 
because  they  appeal  to  adults,  and  so  seem 
to  belong  here — are  reprinted  from  a  volume 
of  verses  for  children  issued  a  few  years  ago. 

L .       


503 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

IN  THE  CANON 9 

ONCE  BEFORE 12 

INVERTED 14 

THE  Two  MYSTERIES 15 

THE  STARS 1 8 

THERE  's  A  WEDDING  IN  THE  ORCHARD 19 

WHAT  's  IN  A  NAME  ? 22 

• 

THE  COMPACT 24 

THE  DIFFERENCE 30 

SECRETS 32 

WHIP-POOR-WILL 34 

BY  THE  LAKE 36 

HEART-ORACLES 38 

EMERSON 39 

SHADOW-EVIDENCE 40 

FROM   FLOWER  TO   LIGHT 42 

THE  CHILD  AND  THE  SEA 46 

THE  UMPIRES .48 


vi  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

LONG  AGO 50 

MY  WINDOW  IVY 52 

FAITH 54 

TRUST 56 

DEATH   IN   LIFE 58 

BY  MOONLIGHT 60 

THE   HUMAN  TIE 63 

AN  APRIL  MAIDEN 64 

LITTLE  WORDS 65 

BLOOM 68 

SNOW-FLAKES 69 

Two  SUMMER  DAYS 70 

OVER  THE  WORLD 72 


GRASSHOPPER    AND    CRICKET. 
The  Fields: 

THE  GRASS  WORLD 75 

CONFIDENCES 77 

HUBER 78 

FIRE-FLIES 80 

WHERE  IGNORANCE  is  BLISS  82 

READING 83 


CONTENTS.  vii 

PAGE. 

THE  MISTAKE 84 

A  TALE  OF  THANKS 85 

WRITTEN  ON  THE  ROAD 86 

THE  FLOWERS 88 

FULFILLMENT 9I 

GREETINGS 92 

To  A  FRIEND 93 

MARCH 94 

"Now  THE  NOISY  WINDS  ARE  STILL" 96 

CALLING  THE  FLOWERS 97 

A  SONG  OF  MAY 98 

BLOSSOM-SNOW I00 

The  Hearth: 

THE  CONCERT 102 

ANOTHER  YEAR 104 

THE   MINUET , 107 

MOTHERLESS ! !  I0 

WILLIE !  I3 

THE  FOOT-PRINT  IN  THE  SNOW 1 16 

How  THE  NEW-YEAR  CAME.  .  118 

AT  THE  WINDOW \ 22 

KITTY I24 

AFTER  TEA.  ...  126 


viii  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

A  BIRTHDAY  RHYME 127 

THANKSGIVING 130 

OLD  SONGS 133 

THE  NIGHTLY  REST 136 


IN    THE    CANON. 

INTENT  the  conscious  mountains  stood, 
The  friendly  blossoms  nodded, 
As  through  the  canon's  lonely  wood 

We  two  in  silence  plodded. 
A  something  owned  our  presence  good; 
The  very  breeze  that  stirred  our  hair 

Whispered  a  gentle  greeting; 
A  grand,  free  courtesy  was  there, 
A  welcome,  from  the  summit  bare 
Down  to  the  brook's  entreating. 

Stray  warblers  in  the  branches  dark 

Shot  through  the  leafy  passes, 
While  the  long  note  of  meadow-lark 

Rose  from  the  neighboring  grasses; 
The  yellow  lupines,  spark  on  spark, 
2 


io  IAr   THE   CANON. 

From  the  more  open  woodland  way, 

Flashed  through  the  sunlight  faintly; 
A  wind-blown  little  flower,  once  gay, 
Looked  up  between  its  petals  gray 
And  smiled  a  message  saintly. 

The  giant  ledges,  red  and  seamed, 
The  clear,  blue  sky,  tree-fretted; 

The  mottled  light  that  round  us  streamed, 
The  brooklet,  vexed  and  petted; 

The  bees  that  buzzed,  the  gnats  that  dreamed, 
The  flitting,  gauzy  things  of  June ; 

The  plain,  far-off,  like  misty  ocean, 
Or,  cloud-land  bound,  a  fair  lagoon, — 
They  sang  within  us  like  a  tune, 

They  swayed  us  like  a  dream  of  motion. 

The  hours  went  loitering  to  the  West, 
The  shadows  lengthened  slowly  ; 

The  radiant  snow  on  mountain  crest 
Made  all  the  distance  holy. 

Near  by,  the  earth  lay  full  of  rest, 


IN  THE   CANON.  « 

The  sleepy  foot-hills,  one  by  one, 
Dimpled  their  way  to  twilight; 
And  ere  the  perfect  day  was  done 
There  came  long  gleams  of  tinted  sun, 
Through  heaven's  crimson  sky-light. 

Slowly  crept  on  the  listening  night, 

The  sinking  moon  shone  pale  and  slender; 

We  hailed  the  cotton-woods,  in  sight, 

The  home-roof  gleaming  near  and  tender, 

Guiding  our  quickened  steps  aright. 
Soon  darkened  all  the  mighty  hills, 

The  gods  were  sitting  there  in  shadow; 
Lulled  were  the  noisy  woodland  rills, 
Silent  the  silvery  woodland  trills, — 
'T  was  starlight  over  Colorado  ! 


ONCE   BEFORE 

ONCE  before,  this  self-same  air 
Passed  me,  though  I  know  not  where. 
Strange !  how  very  like  it  came  ! 
Touch  and  fragrance  were  the  same; 
Sound  of  mingled  voices,  too, 
With  a  light  laugh  ringing  through; 
Some  one  moving — here  or  there — 
Some  one  passing  up  the  stair, 
Some  one  calling  from  without, 
Or  a  far-off  childish  shout;  — 
Simple,  home-like,  nothing  more, 
Yet  it  all  hath  been  before! 

No.     Not  to-day,  nor  yesterday. 
Nor  any  day.     But  far  away  — 
So  long  ago,  so  very  far, 
It  might  have  been  on  other  star 


ONCE   BEFORE.  l 

How  was  it  spent  ?  and  where  ?  and  when  ? 

This  life  that  went,  yet  comes  again  ? 

Was  sleep  its  world,  or  death  its  shore  ? 

I  still  the  silent  Past  implore. 

Ah !    never  dream  had  power  to  show 

Such  vexing  glimpse  of  Long  Ago. 

Never  a  death  could  follow  death 

With  love  between,  and  home,  and  breath. 

The  spell  has  passed.     What  spendthrifts  we, 

Of  simple,  household  certainty  ! 

What  golden  grain  we  trample  low 

Searching  for  flowers  that  never  grow! 

Why,  home  is  real,  and  love  is  real ; 

Nor  false  our  honest  high  ideal. 

Life,  it  is  bounding,  warm  and  strong, 

And  all  mv  heart  resounds  with  song. 

It  must  be  true,   whate'er  befall, 

This,  and  the  world  to  come  are  all. 

And  yet  it  puzzles  me — alack! 

When  life  that  could  not  be,  comes  back! 


INVERTED. 

YOUTH  has  its  griefs,  its  disappointments  keen, 
Its  baffled  longings  and  its  memories ; 

Its  anguish  in  a  joy  that  once  hath  been ; 
Its  languid  settling  in  a  sinful  ease. 

And  age  has  pleasures,  rosy,  fresh  and  warm, 
And  glad  beguilements  and  expectancies ; 

Its  heart  of  boldness  for  a  threatened  storm ; 
Its  eager  launching  upon  sunny  seas. 

Youth  has  its  losses,  sad  and  desolate; 

Its  wreck  of  precious  freight  where  all  was  sent ; 
Its  blight  of  trust,  its  helpless  heart  of  fate, 

Its  dreary  knowledge  of  illusion  spent. 

For  life  is  but  a  day ;  and,  dawn  or  eve, 

The  shadows  must  be  long  when  suns  are  low. 

Old  age  may  be  surprised  and  loth  to  leave; 
And  youth  may  weary  wait  and  long  to  go. 


THE    TWO     MYSTERIES. 


"/«  the  middle  of^ie  room,  in  its  white  coffin,  lay  the  dead 
child,  a  nephew  of  the  jfoet.  Near  it,  in  a  great  chair,  sat 
Walt  Whitman,  surround^L  by  little  ones,  and  holding  a  beait- 
tiful  little  girl  on  his  la^  She  looked  wonderingly  at  the 
spectacle  of  death,  and  then  \wuiringly  into  the  old  man's  face, 
1  You  don't  know  what  it  is\do  you,  my  dear? '  said  he,  and 
added,  '  We  don't  either:  " 


WE   know  not    what    it  is,   dear,  this   sleep   so   deep 

and  still; 
The  folded  hands,  the  awful  calm,  the  cheek  so  pale 

and  chill; 
The  lids  that  will  not  lift  again,  though  we  may  call 

and  call ; 
The  strange,  white  solitude  of  peace  that  settles  over 

all. 

We    know   not   what    it    means,   dear,  •  this    desolate 

heart-pain ; 
This    dread    to   take    our   daily  way,  and   walk  in  it 

again ; 

15 


16  THE    TWO   MYSTERIES. 

We  know   not   to   what   other  sphere   the  loved  who 

leave  us  go, 
Nor  why  we  're  left  to  wonder  still,  nor  why  we  do 

not  know. 

But   this   we   know:    Our    loved    and   dead,   if   they 

should  come  this  day  — 
Should  come  and  ask   us,    "  What  is  life  ?  "    not  one 

of  us  could  say. 

Life  is  a  mystery  as  deep  as  ever  death  can  be; 
Yet    oh,    how    dear    it    is    to    us,    this    life    we    live 

and  see! 

Then    might    they   say — these    vanished    ones — and 

blessed  is  the  thought; 
"  So  death  is  sweet  to   us,  beloved !    though  we  may 

show  you  naught; 
We    may    not   to   the   quick    reveal    the   mystery   of 

death — 
Ye    cannot    tell    us,   if    ye    would,   the    mystery    of 

breath." 


THE    TWO   MYSTERIES.  17 

The  child  who  enters  life  comes  not  with  knowledge 
or  intent, 

So  those  who  enter  death  must  go  as  little  children 
sent. 

Nothing  is  known.  But  I  believe  that  God  is  over 
head  ; 

And  as  life  is  to  the  living,  so  death  is  to  the  dead. 


THE    STARS. 

THEY  wait  all  day  unseen  by  us,  unfelt ; 

Patient  they  bide  behind  the  day's  full  glare ; 

And  we   who   watched   the    dawn  when  they  were 

there, 

Thought  we  had  seen  them  in  the  daylight  melt, 
While  the  slow  sun  upon  the  earth-line  knelt. 

Because  the  teeming  sky  seemed  void  and  bare, 

When  we  explored  it  through  the  dazzled  air, 
We  had  no  thought  that  there  all  day  they  dwelt. 
Yet  were  they  over  us,  alive  and  true, 
In  the  vast  shades  far  up  above  the  blue, — 
The  brooding  shades  beyond  our  daylight  ken  — 

Serene  and  patient  in  their  conscious  light, 
Ready  to  sparkle  for  our  joy  again, — 

The  eternal  jewels  of  the  short-lived  night. 


18 


THERE'S  A  WEDDING  IN  THE  ORCHARD. 

THERE  's  a  wedding  in  the  orchard,  dear, 

I  know  it  by  the  flowers ; 
They  're  wreathed  on  every  bough  and  branch, 

Or  falling  down  in   showers. 

The  air  is  in  a  mist,  I  think, 

And  scarce  knows  which  to  be — 

Whether  all  fragrance,  clinging  close, 
Or  bird-song,  wild  and  free. 

And  countless  wedding-jewels  shine, 

And  golden  gifts  of  grace ; 
I  never  saw  such  wealth  of  sun 

In  any  shady  place. 

It  seemed  I  heard  the  fluttering  robes 
Of  maidens  clad  in  white, 


20     THERE'S  A    IVEDDIXG  IX  THE    ORCHARD. 

The  clasping  of  a  thousand  hands 
In  tenderest  delight; 

While  whispers  ran  among  the  boughs 

Of  promises  and  praise ; 
And  playful,  loving  messages 

Sped  through  the  leaf-lit  ways. 

Then  were  there  swayings  to  and  fro; 

The  weeds  a-tiptoe  rose; 
And  sang  the  breeze  a  sudden  song 

That  sank  to  sudden  close; 

And  just  beyond  the  wreathed  aisles 
That  end  against  the  blue, 

The  raiment  of  the  wedding-choir 
And  priest  came  shining  through. 

And  though  I  saw  no  wedding-guest, 
Nor  groom,  nor  gentle  bride, 

I  know  that  holy  things  were  asked, 
And  holy  love  replied. 


THERE  'S  A    WEDDIXG  IX    THE    ORCHARD.    21 

Soon  will  the  lengthening  shadows  move 

Unwillingly  away, 
Like  friends  who  linger  with  adieux 

Yet  are  not  bid  to  stay. 

I  follow  where  the  blue-bird  leads, 
And  hear  its  soft  "good-night," 

Still  thinking  of  the  wedding-scene 
And  aisles  of  flowery  light. 


"WHAT  'S    IN    A    NAME." 

ONCE  on  a  time,  where  jewels  flashed 
And  rose-hid  fountains  softly  plashed, 
And  all  the  air  was  sweet  and  bright 
With  music,  mirth  and  deft  delight — 
A  courtly  dame  drew,  smiling,  near 

A  poet,  greatest  of  his  time, 
And  chirped  a  question  in  his  ear 

With  voice  like  silver  bells  in  chime  : 
"  Good  Master  Shakespeare,  I  would  know 

The  name  thy  lady  bore,  in  sooth, 
Ere  thine  ?     Nay,  little  while  ago 

It  was,  for  still  we  see  her  youth. 
Some  high-born  name,  I  trow,  and  yet 
Though  I  have  heard  it,  I  forget." 
Then  answered  he, 
With  dignity, 

Yet  blithely,  as  the  hour  was  gay  : 
'-  Ann  Hathaway." 


«  WHAT'S  IN  A   NAME."  23 

"And  good,  sweet  sir,"  the  dame  pursued, 
Too  fair  and  winsome  to  be  rude — 
"  'T  is  hinted  here,  and  whispered  there, 
By  doughty  knights  and  ladies  fair, 
That — that — well,  that  her  loyal  lord 

Doth  e'en  obey  her  slightest  will. 
Now,  my  good  spouse,  I  pledge  my  word, 

Though  loving  well,  doth  heed  me  ill. 
Her  witchery  I  pray  thee  tell," 

She  pleaded,  with  a  pretty  frown, 
"  I  fain  would  know  what  mighty  spell 

Can  bring  a  haughty  husband  down." 
Flushing,  she  raised  her  eager  face 
To  his,  with  merry,  plaintive  grace. 
Then  answered  he, 
With  dignity, 

Yet  blithely,  as  the  hour  was  gay  : 
"  Fair  lady,  I  can  only  say, 
Ann  hath  a  way." 


THE    COMPACT. 

IT  was  a  little  boy  who  lived  in  Philadelphia  town, 
And   a  very    kind    old    gentleman,    whose   name    was 

Mr.  Brown. 
It  happened    that  the  self-same   day  they  visited    the 

Fair, 
And,  hand    in    hand,  they    walked    about,   a    happy, 

friendly  pair. 

The  little  boy  looked  right  and  left  with  eager,  won 
dering  eyes, 

The  other  gazed   more  steadily,  for  he  was   old  and 
wise; 

But  soon   he  caught  the   small  boy's  way  of  feeling 
glad  and  bright ; 

And  the  boy  no   longer   aimlessly  looked  to   the  left 
and  right. 

24 


THE    COMPACT.  25 

« I   like  you,  Mr.   Brown,"  he   said.    "  You   make   me 

understand." 
"  I    like  you,  too,"  thought  Mr.   Brown,  and    pressed 

the  little  hand. 
And   so   they  walked   together,  and    saw  the   mighty 

show, 
While    music,    light,    and    brilliant    hues    set    all    the 

crowd  aglow. 

Then,  suddenly,  a   shadow   fell   upon    the   old   man's 

face; 
He  fixed  his  eyes  right  wistfully  upon   the  wondrous 

place. 
"  Ah,    me !     ah,    me ! "     he    muttered,    as    to    himself, 

nor  smiled 
At  the  merry  look  of  questioning  that  came  upon  the 

child. 

"  My  boy,  a  hundred  years  from  now,  another  mighty 

Fair 
Will  crown  the  new  Centennial ;  but  we  shall  not  be 

there. 

4 


26  THE    COMPACT. 

Not  one  of  all  this  eager  crowd"  (and  here  he  drew 

a  sigh) 
"  Will  be  living  on  the  earth  that  day — not  even  you 

and  I. 

4 

"  The  years  will  bring  discoveries,  inventions,  man 
ners  new, 

And  nations  yet  unborn  may  shame  the  things  that 
here  we  view. 

I  own  I  'd  like  to  see  it  all,  the  next  Centennial 
Fair, 

With  the  Stars  and  Stripes  that  day,  as  now,  flung 
gayly  to  the  air. 

"  I  'd  like  to  see  the  world  grown  wiser,  better,  too, 

my  lad 
(Though  I  'm  not  one  of  those  who  think  this  world 

is  wholly  bad). 
I  'd  like  to  see  the  country  shine  with  nobler,  holier 

grace, 
And  the  Church  of  Christ  triumphant  in  the  manners 

of  a  race. 


THE    COMPACT.  27 

"  It  's    useless    to    regret,  I    know ;    our    life  is  but   a 

span. 
We  '11  all  be  gone  before  that  day ;  yes,  all,  my  little 

man." 
Then    Brown  wiped    off    his    spectacles,   and  gave  a 

quiet  cough; 
But  the    little    boy  said:    "Never  mind,  it  's   such    a 

long  way  off." 

"  Yes,  long  for  you,  perhaps,  my  boy ;  but  my  life  's 

nearly  spent. 
Yet,  if  I  knew  just  how  the  world  would  grow,  I  'd 

be   content." 
The    little    boy    stopped    short,    with :     "  Here    are 

benches,  let  's  sit  down. 
I  '11   tell    you   what  I  '11    do    for  you 5  with   pleasure, 

Mr.  Brown. 

"When    I    get  big,  I  '11   notice    sharp  just   what    the 

people  do, 
And  how  they  live,  how  good  they  are — I   '11  watch 

them  just  for  you. 


28  THE    COMPACT. 

And  then  I  '11  tell  some  little   boy  (not  born  yet)  he 

must  keep 
A  sharp  lookout,  and,  don't  you  see  ?    in  time  he  '11 

learn  a  heap. 

"  Well,  when    I  'm    old,  I   '11    say  to    him   what    you 

have  said  to-day  : 
*  My   boy,  my  time    is    nearly    spent ;     1  '11    soon    be 

going  away; 
I    can't    see    the    Centennial    that  's  coming    soon,   I 

know; 
But  you  will  see  it,  certainly,  before  you  have  to  go. 

" '  Now,    I  'm    going,'    I  '11   say,    '  to    Heaven ;    and 

when  you  come  there,  too, 
You  can  tell  me  all   about  the    show,  and  what  you 

saw  there  new, 
And  how  the  people  looked  and   did  in   Philadelphia 

town, 
For  I  want  to  tell  a  friend  of  mine  up  there,  named 

Mr.   Brown.'" 


THE    COMPACT.  29 

He  ceased.      The    old   man    stared,  then    smiled    and 

stroked  the  sunny  head. 
« Thank    you,  my    boy,    I  '11    count    on    you."     And 

that  was  all  they  said. 
Then,  quite   content  and  glad  again,  the  mighty  show 

they  scanned, — 
The  old  man  and  the  little  boy, — still  walking  hand 

in  hand. 


THE    DIFFERENCE. 


YESTERDAY,  the  wind  it  moaned, 

The  sleet  drove  fast,  the  forest  groaned, 

Yet  within  all  was  bright  — 

My  heart,  it  was  light ; 

The  birdies  were  flinging 

Their  wealth  to  my  singing; 

The  glad  summer  sky 

It  shone  in  his  eye  — 

For  Robin  was  here, 

Robin,  my  dear ! 

Ah,  little  cared  I  for  the  gloom  of  the  weather, 
So  Robin  and  I  could  but  whisper  together. 


THE  DIFFERENCE.  31 


II. 


To-day,  I  coldly  scan  it  o'er, 

This  flood  of  sun  on  the  silent  floor, 

As  it  glitters  and  trembles, 

And  vainly  dissembles. 

The  birdies  outside, 

They  mock  and  deride; 

And  the  sky  looks  me  through 

With  its  cold  eye  of  blue ; 

For  Robin  is  gone — 

Robin,  my  own  ! 

Ah,  what  does  it  matter  how  sparkling  the  weather, 
If  Robin  and  I  cannot  ramble  together  ? 


SECRETS. 

I  'D  like  to  be  a  daisy 

In  the  clover, 
That  I  might  look  up  bravely 

At  my  lover. 

I  'd  bid  the  willing  breezes 

Bend  me  sweet, 
That  I  might,  as  he  passed  me, 

Touch  his  feet; 

I  'd  let  the  dew  so  quickly 

Start  and  glisten, 
That,  thinking  I  had  called  him, 

He  would  listen. 

Yet  would  he  listen  vainly  — 

Happy  me  ! 
No  bee  could  find  my  secret; 

How  could  he  ? 


SECRETS.  33 

If  ever  of  the  clover 

Couch  he  made, 
I  'd  softly  kiss  his  eyelids 

In  the  shade. 

Then  would  I  breathe  sweet  incense 

All  for  him, 
And  fill  with  perfect  bloom 

The  twilight  dim. 

What  should  I  do,  I  wonder, 

When  he  went  ? 
Why,  I  would — like  a  daisy — 

Be  content. 

Alack  !    to  live  so  bravely, 

Peace  o'erladen, 
Has  ne'er  been  granted  yet 

To  simple  maiden. 


5 


WHIP-POOR-WILL. 

THE  Western  sky  blazed  through  the  trees, 

And  in  the  East  the  dove-light  shone; 
Low  fields  of  clover  to  the  breeze 

Gave  out  a  fragrant  monotone ; 
While  sharp-voiced,  whirring  things  beyond 

Sent  a  faint  treble  through  the  air, 
And  discords  of  the  hidden  pond 

Pulsed  like  an  anthem,  deep  and  rare. 
Yet  all  the  twilight  range  seemed  still, 

The  tumult  was  so  subtle-sweet ; 

When  forth  it  burst, — clear,  slow,  complete, 
The  evening  call  of 

"  Whip-poor-will !  " 


34 


WHIP-POOR-  WILL.  35 


The  yarrow,  crowding  by  the  hedge, 
Stirred  not  its  specked,  uncertain  white ; 

The  locust  on  the  upland's  edge 

Stood  tranced  against  the  blaze  of  light; 

For  now  the  throbbing  air  was  mute, 

Since  that  wild  note  had  pierced  it  through, — 

That  call  so  clear,  so  resolute, 
So  tender,  dominant  and  true. 

When  suddenly,  across  the  hill. — 

Long,  low  and  sweet,  with  dreamy  fall, 
Yet  true  and  mellow,  call  for  call, 

Elate,  and  with  a  human  thrill. — 

Came  the  far  answer: 

"  Whip-poor-will !  " 


BY  THE    LAKE. 

I  LISTEN  to  the  plashing  of  the  lake, — 
The  tideless  tide  that  silvers  all  its  edge, 
And  stirs,  yet  rouses  not,  the  sleepy  sedge, — 
While  the  glad,  busy  sky  is  wide  awake, 
And  coves  along  the  shore  its  fleeting  shadows  take. 

I  listen  to  the  plashing,  clear  and  faint; 

Now  sharp  against  the  stones  that  slide  it  back, 
Now  soft  and  nestling  in  a  mossy  track, 
Or  rocking  in  an  eager,  homeless  plaint, 
Or  stifled  in  the  ooze,  whose  yielding  is  restraint. 

Nature's  deep  lessons  come  in  silences. 

Or  sounds  that  fall  like  silence  on  our  sense; 
And  so  this  plashing  seeks  my  soul's  pretense, 
And  bids  it  say  what  its  fulfillment  is, 
And  bares  to  searching  light  its  fond  alliances. 


BY  THE  LAKE.  37 

I  cannot  fathom  all  my  soul  doth  hide, 

Nor  sound  the  centres  that  the  waves  conceal; 
Yet  in  a  dim,  half-yearning  way  I  feel 

The  urging  of  the  low,  insistent  tide, — 

Till   the   plashing    seems   like    sobbing,   and   the   sky 
grows  cold  and  wide. 


HEART-ORACLES. 

BY    the   motes   do    we   know  where    the   sunbeam    is 

slanting ; 
Through   the   hindering   stones   speaks   the  soul  of 

the  brook; 

Past  the  rustle  of  leaves  we  press  in  to  the  stillness ; 
Through  darkness  and  void  to  the  Pleiads  we  look ; 
One  bird-note  at  dawn  with  the  night-silence  o'er  us, 
Begins  all  the  morning's  munificent  chorus. 

Through  sorrow  come  glimpses  of  infinite  gladness; 
Through    grand    discontent    mounts    the    spirit    of 

youth ; 
Loneliness  foldeth  a  wonderful  loving; 

The    breakers    of    Doubt   lead    the    great    tide    of 

Truth ; 

And  dread  and  grief-haunted  the  shadowy  portal 
That  shuts  from  our  vision  the  splendor  immortal. 

38 


EMERSON. 

WE  took  it  to  the  woods,  we  two, 
The  book  well  worn  and  brown, 

To  read  his  words  where  stirring  leaves 
Rained  their  soft  shadows  down. 

Yet  as  we  sat  and  breathed  the  scene, 

We  opened  not  a  page ; 
Enough  that  he  was  with  us  there, 

Our  silent,  friendly  sage! 

His  fresh  "  Rhodora  "  bloomed  again ; 

His  "Humble-bee"  buzzed  near; 
And  oh,  the  "  Wood-notes  "  beautiful 

He  taught  our  souls  to  hear. 

So  our  unopened  book  was  read; 

And  so,  in  restful  mood, 
We  and  our  poet,  arm  in  arm, 

Went  sauntering  through  the  wood. 

39 


SHADOW-EVIDENCE. 


SWIFT  o'er  the  sunny  grass, 
I  saw  a  shadow  pass 

With  subtle  charm; 
So  quick,  so  full  of  life, 
With  thrilling  joy  so  rife, 
I  started  lest,  unknown, 
My  step — ere  it  was  flown — 

Had  done  it  haVm. 


ii. 


Why  look  up  to  the  blue  ? 
The  bird  was  gone,  I  knew, 

Far  out  of  sight. 
Steady  and  keen  of  wing, 
The  slight,  impassioned  thing, 


SHADOW-EVIDENCE.  41 

Intent  on  a  goal  unknown, 
Had  held  its  course  alone 
In  silent  flight. 


in. 


Dear  little  bird,  and  fleet, 
Flinging  down  at  my  feet 

Shadow  for  song  :    • 
More  sure  am  I  of  thee — 
Unseen,  unheard  by  me  — 
Than  of  some  things  felt  and  known, 
And  guarded  as  my  own, 

All  my  life  long. 


FROM  FLOWER  TO  LIGHT. 

IN  sorrow  I  tended  my  garden, 

As  the  colors,  day  by  day, 
Faded  and  changed  in  the  heedless  air, 

And  passed  with  the  summer  away. 

While  they  gladdened  my  beautiful  garden, 
Where  the  dews  and  the  sunlight  abide, 

And  crept  up  the  wall  to  my  window, 
Or  hid,  as  the  sweetest  will  hide; 

While  they  lavished  their  splendor  before  me, 
Not  a  flower  had  I  heart  to  cull  — 

Till  the  heaven-lit  flames  of  the  latest 
Went  out,  and  my  garden  was  dull. 


FROM  FLOWER  TO  LIGHT.  43 

O  cruel  the  death  of  the  blossoms, 
And  cruel  the  words  that  were  said: 

"  Next  Spring  shall  the  earth  be  re-gladdened, 
The  living  shall  bloom  from  the  dead." 

Not  for  me  would  the  blooming  be,  ever, 
For  my  love,  O  my  love !  could  not  stay. 

Hand  in  hand  we  had  bent  o'er  their  brightness, 
And  now  he  was  passing  away. 

The  heart-breaking  flowers  of  next  summer, 

They  will  look  at  me,  dreary  and  wan, 
Or  mock  me,  and  taunt  me,  and  madden — 

0  God,  that  the  years  should  roll  on! 

So  I  felt;  and  I  would  not  look  skyward, 
Nor  earthward,  but  only  at  him  — 

At  him  with  his  clear  dying  vision, 
Who  saw  not  the  earth  growing  dim. 

At  him,  till  alone  in  the  garden 

1  stood  with  the  husks  of  the  flowers ; 


44  FROM  FLOWER  TO  LIGHT. 

Alone,  and  the  pitiless  Autumn 

Sent  dead  leaves  about  me,  in  showers. 

"  Look  up  !  "  he  had  whispered  in  parting ; 

"  Look  up !  "  said  a  voice  to  me  then, — 
And  lo!  the  lost  hues  of  my  garden 

Above  me  were  glowing  again ! 

Near  by,  in  the  wide-spreading  maples; 

Far-off,  in  the  mist  of  the  wood; 
Around  and  above  me  they  gathered, 

And  lit  all  the  place  where  I  stood. 

My  purples,  my  rose-tints  and  yellows, 
My  crimsons  that  gladdened  his  sight, 

My  glorious  hues  of  the  garden 
Were  living  in  sunnier  height ! 

Were  living !  were  living !  I  knew  it ! 

And  the  comfort  that  came  to  me  so, 
Endured  when  the  forest  was  naked 

And  the  grass  covered  over  with  snow. 


FROM  FLOWER  TO  LIGHT.  45 

For  again  I  looked  up  and  beheld  them, 
The  souls  of  the  flowers  he  had  blest; 

I  saw  them  in  glory  transfigured 
Far  off  in  the  wonderful  West. 

Contented,  at  last,  I  beheld  them  — 
My  colors  immortal  and  bright — 

When  the  gates  of  the  sunset,  slow-folding, 
Shut  them  out  from  my  passionate  sight. 


THE   CHILD   AND   THE   SEA. 

ONE  Summer  day,  when  birds  flew  high, 

I  saw  a  child  step  into  the  sea; 
It  glowed,  and  sparkled  at  her  touch, 

And  softly  plashed  about  her  knee. 
It  held  her  lightly  with  its  strength. 

It  kissed  and  kissed  her  silken  hair; 
It  swayed  with  tenderness  to  know 

A  little  child  was  in  its  care. 

She,  gleeful,  dipped  her  pretty  arms, 

And  caught  the  sparkles  in  her  hands ; 
I  heard  her  laughter,  as  she  soon 

Came  skipping  up  the  sunny  sands. 
"  Is  this  the  cruel  sea  ?  "  I  thought, 

"The  merciless,  the  awful  sea?" — 
Now  hear  the  answer  soft  and  true, 

That  rippled  over  the  beach  to  me : 
46 


THE   CHILD  AND    THE  SEA.  47 

"Shall  not  the  sea,  in  the  sun,  be  glad 
When  a  child  doth  come  to  play  ? 

Had  it  been  in  the  storm-time,  what  could  I, 
The  sea,  but  bear  her  away — 

Bear  her  away  on  my  foaming  crest, 
Toss  her  and  hurry  her  to  her  rest  ? 

"  Be  it  life  or  death,  God  ruleth  me ; 

And  he  loveth  every  soul ; 
I've  an  earthly  shore  and  a  heavenly  shore, 

And  toward  them  both  I  roll ; 
Shining  and  beautiful,  both,  are  they, — 

And  a  little  child  will  go  God's  way." 


THE    UMPIRES. 


WE  chose  our  blossoms,  sitting  on  the  grass; 

His,  Marguerites,  with  sunny,  winsome  faces, 

Mine  the  bright  clover,  with  its  statelier  graces. 
"  Let  these  decide  the  argument,  my  lass ; 
We  '11  watch,"  said  he,  "the  light-winged  breezes  pass 

And  note  which  first  the  earliest  whiff  displaces ; 

If  it  be  daisy,  yours  the  sore  disgrace  is, 
And  be  it  clover,  then  I  yield,  alas ! " 
The  lightsome  quarrel  was  but  half  in  jest ; 
I  would  go  homeward;  he  would  sit  and  rest — 
The  foolish  cousin  whom  I  would  not  wed. 
Smiling  we  waited;  not  a  word  we  said. 
In  earnest  he,  and  I  quite  debonair — 
But  oh,  the  stillness  of  that  summer  air ! 


THE    UMPIRES.  49 


II. 


So  still  it  was — so  still  with  quiet  heat, 

The  blossom  lately  from  the  brooklet  quaffing 
Ceased  its  brisk  dipping  and  sly  telegraphing, 

And  scorned  the  blossom  opposite  to  greet. 

The  very  grass  stood  breathless  at  our  feet; 
When,  suddenly,  our  weighty  silence  chaffing, 
The  leaves  around  broke  out  in  muffled  laughing, 

And  something  stirred  the  fickle  Marguerite ! 

"Your  flower!"   I  cried. —  "Ah,  now  it  bends  quite 


"Oho!"  he  answered  — "  see  your  nodding  clover!" 

In  truth,  those  silly  blossoms  fluttered  so, 

I  really  knew  not  if  to  stay  or  go. — 

And  so  it  happened  that  the  twilight  found  me 

Still  resting  there,— and  Charlie's  arm  around  me. 


LONG    AGO. 

STILL  the  rock  is  in  the  forest, 

With  the  branches  overhead, 
And  the  linden-tree,  low-bending 

By  the  sumac,  flaming  red. 
In  and  out  among  the  shadows 

Glides  the  self-same  woodland  stream; 
Still  the  bright-eyed  squirrels  listen, 

And  the  beetles  idly  dream. 

Do  the  squirrels   hear  a  foot-fall' 

Or  the  beetles  flash  their  green 
For  a  hand  that  parts  the  branches, 

Letting  sun-light  in  between? 
Does  the  brook,  with  rippling  lightness, 

Catch  two  shadows — his  and  mine — 
Give  them  to  its  circling  eddies 

With  a  murmuring  divine  ? 
so 


LONG  AGO.  51 

Do  the  lichens,  gray  and  clinging, 

Hear  a  promise  whispered  there, 
While  the  ferns  look  up  and  listen, 

Laughing  through  the  maiden-hair? 
Do  the  birds  that  fill  the  distance, 

Or  the  glints  of  summer  blue, 
Try  to  sing  and  shine  love's  gladness 

As  of  old  they  used  to  do  ? 

Ah,  for  comfort  of  all  rovers, 

Such  as  I,  in  stranger  clime; 
Sure  as  sunlight,  new-made  lovers 

Roam  to-day  the  summer's  prime. 
Heaven  spare  the  fields  their  brightness! 

Spare  the  brook  its  sparkling  flow! 
Light  the  woods  with  holy  shadows 

As  it  lit  them  long  ago! 


MY    WINDOW-IVY. 

OVER  my  window  the  ivy  climbs, 

Its  roots  are  in  homely  jars ; 
But  all  the  day  it  looks  at  the  sun, 

And  at  night  looks  out  at  the  stars. 

The  dust  of  the  room  may  dim  its  green, 

But  I  call  to  the  breezy  air: 
"  Come  in,  come  in,  good  friend  of  mine ! 

And  make  my  window  fair." 

So  the  ivy  thrives  from  morn  to  morn, 
Its  leaves  all  turned  to  the  light ; 

And  it  gladdens  my  soul  with  its  tender  green, 
And  teaches  me  day  and  night. 

What  though  my  lot  is  in  lowly  place, 

And  my  spirit  behind  the  bars; 
All  the  long  day  I  may  look  at  the  sun, 

And  at  night  look  out  at  the  stars. 


MY  WINDOW- IVY.  53 

What  though  the  dust  of  earth  would  dim, 

There  's  a  glorious  outer  air 
That  will  sweep  through  my  soul  if  I  let  it  in, 

And  make  it  fresh  and  fair. 

Dear  God  !  let  me  grow  from  day  to  day, 

Clinging  and  sunny  and  bright ! 
Though  planted  in  shade,  Thy  window  is  near, 

And  my  leaves  may  turn  to  the  light. 


FAITH. 

THE  wind  drove  the  moon 

To  a  sky-built  cave, 
And  closed  it  up 

As  it  were  her  grave. 
The  cave  threw  wide 

A  silver  portal  — 
And  forth  she  came, 

Serene,  immortal ! 

He  piled  black  clouds 

In  angry  might, 
Till  lost  in  gloom 

Was  all   her  light. 
The  clouds  a  moment 

Held  her  under; 
Then,  glorified, 

They  burst  asunder ! 

54 


FAITH.  55 

The  wind,  that  night, 

Bemoaned  and  whistled 
Till  all  the  forest 

Stirred  and  bristled ; 
While  moonbeams  stole 

To  tear-wet  pillows. 
And  found  their  way 

Through  grave-yard  willows. 


TRUST. 

THOUGH  tangled  hard  life's  knot  may  be, 

And  wearily  we  rue  it, 
The  silent  touch  of  Father  Time 
Some  day  will  sure  undo  it. 
Then,  darling,  wait; 
Nothing  is  late 
In  the  light  that  shines  forever. 

We  faint  at  heart,  a  friend  is  gone; 

We  chafe  at  the  world's  harsh  drilling; 
We  tremble  at  sorrows  on  every  side, 
At  the  myriad  ways  of  killing. 
Yet,  say  we  all, 
If  a  sparrow  fall, 
The  Lord  keepeth  count  forever. 

He  keepeth  count.     We  come,  we  go, 
We  speculate,  toil  and  falter : 

But  the  measure  to  each  of  weal  or  woe, 
God  only  can  give  or  alter. 

56 


TRUST.  57 

He  sendeth  light, 
He  sendeth  night, 
And  change  goes  on  forever. 

Why  not  take  life  with  cheerful  trust, 

With  faith  in  the  strength  of  weakness? 
The  slenderest  daisy  rears  its  head 
With  courage,  yet  with  meekness. 
A  sunny  face 
Hath  holy  grace, 
To  woo  the  Sun  forever. 

Forever  and  ever,  my  darling,  yes  — 

Goodness  and  love  are  undying; 
Only  the  troubles  and  cares  of  earth 
Are  winged  from  the  first  for  flying. 
Our  way  we  plow 
In  the  furrow  "  now  " ; 

But  after  the  tilling  and  growing,  the  sheaf; 
Soil  for  the  root,  but  the  sun  for  the  leaf, — 
And  God  keepeth  watch  forever. 


8 


DEATH    IN   LIFE. 

SHE  sitteth  there  a  mourner, 

With  her  dead  before  her  eyes; 
Flushed  with  the  hues  of  life  is  he 

And  quick  are  his  replies. 
Often  his  warm  hand  touches  hers; 

Brightly  his  glances  fall; 
And  yet,  in  this  wide  world,  is  she 

The  loneliest  of  all. 

Some  mourners  feel  their  dead  return 

In  dreams,  or  thoughts  at  even ; 
Ah,  well  for  them  their  best-beloved 

Are  faithful  still  in  heaven! 
But  woe  to  her  whose  best-beloved, 

Though  dead,  still  lingers  near; 
So  far  away  when  by  her  side, 

He  cannot  see  nor  hear. 


DEATH  IN  LIFE.  59 

With  heart  intent,  he  comes,  he  goes 

In  busy  ways  of  life. 
His  gains  and  chances  counteth  he; 

His  hours  with  joy  are  rife. 
Careless  he  greets  her  day  by  day, 

Nor  thinks  of  words  once  said. — 
Oh,  would  that  love  could  live  again, 

Or  her  heart  give  up  its  dead! 


BY    MOONLIGHT. 

OUT  of  the  depths  above  shone  forth 
A  beautiful,  radiant,  peerless  light; 

Paling  the  stars  near  by,  she  ruled 

Queen  of  the  breathless,  listening  night. 

Four  of  us  glided  along  in  the  boat, — 
Rlioda  and  Etta,  Harry  and  I, — 

Cheerily  watching  the  glory  that  streamed 
Across  the  sea  from  the  bending  sky. 

Etta  spoke  first,  and  her  voice  seemed  far: 
"  The  sparkling  line,  however  we  turn, 

Comes  straight  to  me ! "     But  I  claimed  it,  too, 
I  at  the  bow,  and  she  at  the  stern. 

60 


BY  MOONLIGHT.  61 

We  laughed,  insisting;  then  Rhoda,  between:  — 
"Absurd!  for  it  comes  to  me,  not  you — 

A  beautiful,  silvery  ribbon  of  light, 

Crinkling  and  shining  across  the  blue." 

Then  Harry,  the  rower  :     "  By  all  that  's  bright 
It  flashes  its  course  direct  to  me !  " 

Thus  merry,  intent  and  apart  we  sat, 

Claiming  the  splendor  that  crossed  the  sea 

Till  Rhoda,  the  fairy,  proposed  a  plan 
(A  friskier  sailor  was  never  afloat); 

And  then,  with  many  a  laugh  and  start, 
We  all  changed  seats  in  the  rocking  boat. 

O  human  vision,  how  blind  it  is! 

T  was  plain,  at  last,  that  our  partial  sight 
Had  made  the  glory  that  shone  for  all 

To  each  seem  a  narrow  pathway  bright. 

Shining,  arose  on  the  breast  of  the  sea, 
A  lesson  in  love,  a  thought  of  grace: 


62  BY  MOONLIGHT. 

Learn  thou  to  look  for  the  Heavenly  light 

Not    alone    from    thine    own,   but    thy    neighbor's 
place. 

Four  of  us  glided  home  in  the  boat, 

Rhoda  and  Etta,  Harry  and  I, 
Thoughtfully  watching  the  glory  that  streamed 

Over  the  sea  from  the  silent  sky. 


THE    HUMAN    TIE. 

"As  if  life  were  not  sacred,  too"  —  GEORGE  ELIOT. 

"  SPEAK  tenderly !     For  he  is  dead,"  we  say ; 

"  With  gracious  hand  smooth  all  his  roughened  past, 
And  fullest  measure  of  reward  forecast, 

Forgetting  naught  that  gloried  his  brief  day." 

Yet  of  the  brother,  who,  along  our  way, 

Prone  with  his  burdens,  heart-worn  in  the  strife, 
Totters  before  us — how  we  search  his  life, 

Censure,  and  sternly  punish,  while  we  may. 

Oh,  weary  are  the  paths  of  Earth,   and  hard! 

And  living  hearts  alone  are  ours  to  guard. 

At  least,  begrudge  not  to   the   sore  distraught 

The  reverent  silence  of  our  pitying  thought. 

Life,  too,   is  sacred;  and  he  best   forgives 

Who  says  :    "  He   errs,  but — tenderly  !     He  lives.'5 


AN    APRIL    MAIDEN. 

"  WERE  you  ever  heavy-hearted,  little  May  ?  " 
She  tossed  her  sunny  head, 
As  right  merrily  she  said: 
"  Heavy-hearted  ?     No,  not  I ; 
Yet  a  little  makes  me  cry, 
And  a  little  less  than  half 
Makes  me  laugh — 
My  mother  often  calls  me  *  April  Day.'" 

"  Were  you  ever  very  happy,  little  May  ?  " 

Again  she  shook  her  head : 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  said; 

"  Very  happy  ?     Who  is  so  ? 

Not  a  single  soul,  you  know. 

Mother  often  tells  me  this 

With  a  kiss  :  — 

Our  life,  she  says,  is  like  an  April  day." 
64 


LITTLE    WORDS. 

How  wise  he  is !     He  can  talk  in  Greek ! 
There  is  n't  a  language  he  cannot  speak. 
The  very  measure  the  Psalmist  sung 
He  carries  at  will  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue. 
When  he  argues  in  English,  why,  every  word 
Is  almost  the  biggest  that  ever  you  heard  ! 
That  is,  when  he  talks  with   Papa  it  's  so — 
With  me  it  's  another  affair,  you  know. 

Little  one-syllable  words,  you  see, 
Are  all  he  is  willing  to  waste  upon  me ; 
So  he  calls  me  his  rose,  his  bird,  his  pet, 
And  says  it  quite  often,  lest  I  should  forget; 
9  65 


66  LITTLE    WORDS. 

While  his  wonderful  verbs  grow  meagre  and  small; 
You  'd  think  he  had  ne'er  opened  Webster  at  all. 
It  's  only :  "  Ah,  do  you  ?  "  or  "  Will  you,  my  dove  ?  " 
Or  else  it  's :  "I  love,"  "  I  love,"  and  "  I  love." 

And  when  we  walk  out  in  the  starry  night, 

Though  he  knows  the  Zodiac's  rounded  height, 

With  its  Gemini,  Scorpio,  Leo,  and  all, 

Its  nebulae,  planets,  and  satellites  small, 

And  though,  in  a  flash,  he  could  turn  his  proud  eye  on 

The  Dipper,  and  Crown,  and  the  Belt  of  Orion ; — 

Not  once  does  he  mention  the  wonders  above. 

But  just  whispers  softly  :  "  My  own !  "  and  "  I  love !  " 

Whenever  they  tease  me — the  girls  and  boys — 

With  :  "  Mrs.  Professor,"  or  "  classical  joys  ;  " 

Or  ask  if  his  passion  he  deigns  to  speak 

In  Hebrew,  or  Sanscrit  or  simple  Greek ; — 

I  try  to  summon  a  look  of  steel, 

And  hide  the  joy  that  I  really  feel. 

For  they  'd  laugh  still  more  if  they  knew  the  truth 

How  meek  a  professor  can  be,  forsooth  ! 


LITTLE    WORDS.  67 

Though  well  I  know,  in  the  days  to  come 

Great  thoughts  shall  preside  in  our  happy  home ; 

And  to  hold  forever  his  loving  looks 

I  must  bend  my  head  over  musty  books, 

And  be  as  learned  as  ever  I  can 

To  do  full  justice  to  such  a  man, — 

The  future  is  bright,  for,  like  song  of  birds, 

My  soul  is  filled  with  his  little  words. 


BLOOM. 

THE  sudden  sun  shone  through  the  pane 

And  lighted  both  their  faces — 
A  prettier  sight  just  after  rain 

Ne'er  fell  in  pleasant  places: 

Two  girls.     One  held  a  vase  of  glass, 

And  one  a  bulb  unsightly, 
Ragged  and  soiled.     And  this  the  lass 

Upon  the  vase  laid  lightly. 

"  What  lovely  flowers  we  '11  have,"  said  they, 

"After  it  starts  a-growing!  " 
The  sun,  delighted,  slipped  away 

And  down  the  west  went  glowing. 


SNOW-FLAKES. 

WHENEVER  a  snow-flake  leaves  the  sky, 
It  turns  and  turns  to  say  "  Good-bye ! 
Good-bye,  dear  cloud,  so  cool  and  gray !  " 
Then  lightly  travels  on  its  way. 

And  when  a  snow-flake  finds  a  tree, 
"Good-day!"  it  says— "  Good-day  to  thee! 
Thou  art  so  bare  and  lonely,  dear, 
I  '11  rest,  and  call  my  comrades  here." 

But  when  a  snow-flake,  brave  and  meek, 
Lights  on  a  rosy  maiden's  cheek, 
It  starts — "How  warm  and  soft  the  day! 
'T  is  summer !  " — and  it  melts  away. 


TWO    SUMMER    DAYS. 


"JUNE    I7TH. 

"  //  was  only  a  little  bunch  of  clover-blossoms  gathered  for  her, 
near  a  way-side  station^  soon  after  our  parties  were  introduced  on 
the  East-bound  train.  But  hoi.v  much  it  meant!  That  was  just 
one  year  ago  to-day, — and  WOT.U  we  are  going  back  together!  " — P'ROM 
HIS  LETTER. 


A  YEAR  ago  this  day,  my  girl, 
The  clover  told  a  thing  to  you, 

Amid  the  stir  and  noisy  whirl 

Of  wheels,  as  toward  his  home  we  flew; 

And  now  you  know  how  fond  and  true 

The  thing  the  clover  said  to  you. 

With  modest  mirth  and  girlish  grace, 
You  took  the  gift  and  lightly  smiled; 

You  pressed  it  softly  to  your  face, 

(What  wonder  that  the  flower  grew  wild!) 

And  now,  in  thought,  again  we  trace, 

The  clover  bloom,  the  girlish  grace. 
7o 


TWO   SUMMER  DAYS.  7* 

Over  the  self-same  road  again 

You  journey, —  yours  the  homeward  way; 
And  bright  upon  that  Western  plain 

The  nodding  clover  smiles  to-day; 
And  still,  though  not  in  lightsome  play, 
It  has  a  blessed  thing  to  say. 

Still  waves  the  clover  in  the  sun, 

And  whispers  near  the  whirring  track: 

"Two  lives  are  floating  into  one,. 
Two  travellers  are  speeding  back. 

God  bless  them  both  till  Heaven  is  won, 

And  bless  the  love  in  bloom  begun ! " 


OVER    THE    WORLD. 

THERE  is  a  time  between  our  night  and  day, 
A  space  between  this  world  and  the  unknown, 
Where  none  may  enter  as  we  stand  alone 

Save  the  one  other  single  soul  that  may  ; 

Then  is  all  perfect  if  the  two  but  stay. 

It  is  the  time  when,  the  home-evening  flown, 
And  "good-nights"  sped  in  happy  household  tone, 

We  look  out  from  the  casement  ere  we  pray. 
Into  the  world  of  darkness  deep  and  far 
We  gaze — each  depth  with  its  own  deepest  star, 
That  brightens  as  we  turn,  nor  yet  recedes 
When  we  would  search  it  with  our  sorest  needs, — 

O  holy  living-ground  from  heaven  won  ! 

O  time  beyond  the  night  when  day  is  done  ! 


GRASSHOPPER   AND    CRICKET. 


One  to  the  fields,  the  other  to  the  hearth." 

LEIGH  HUNT. 


10 


THE  GRASS-WORLD. 

OH,  life  is  rife  in  the  heart  of  the  year, 
When  midsummer  suns  sail  high; 

And  under  the  shadow  of  spike  and  spear, 
In  the  depth  of  the  daisy  sky, 

There  's  a  life  unknown  to  the  careless  glance ; 

And  under  the  stillness  an  airy  prance, 
And  slender,  jointed  things  astir, 
And  gossamer  wings  in  a  sunny  whir, — 

And  a  world  of  work  and  dance. 


Soft  in  its  throbbing,  the  conscious  green 
Demurely  answers  the  breeze; 

While  down  in  its  tangle,  in  riotous  sheen, 
The  hoppers  are  bending  their  knees; 


73 


76  THE    GRASS-WORLD. 

And  only  a  beetle,  or  lumbering  ant, 
As  he  pushes  a  feathery  spray  aslant, — 
Or  the  sudden  dip  of  a  foraging  bird, 
With  its  vibrant  trail  of  the  clover  stirred, 
Discovers  the  secret  haunt. 

Ah,  the  grass-world  dies  in  the  autumn  days, 
When,  studded  with  sheaf  and  stack, 

The  fields  lie  browning  in  sullen  haze, 
And  creak  in  the  farmer's  track. 

Hushed  is  the  tumult  the  daisies  knew, 

The  hidden  sport  of  the  supple  crew ; 

And  lonely  and  dazed  in  the  glare  of  day, 
The  stiff-kneed  hoppers  refuse  to  play 

In  the  stubble  that  mocks  the  blue. 

For  all  things  feel  that  the  time  is  drear 
When  life  runs  low  in  the  heart  of  the  year. 


CONFIDENCES. 

I  WATCHED  a  butterfly  on  the  wing; 
I  saw  him  alight  on  a  sunny  spray. 

His  pinions  quivered; 

The  blossom  shivered; 
I  know  he  whispered  some  startling  thing. 

But  why  so  bold, 

Or  what  he  told, 

While  poising  there  on  the  sunny  spray, 
I  never  have  learned  to  this  blessed  day. 

I  watched  a  brave  young  cavalier; 
I  saw  him  steal  to  a  maiden  gay. 

Swift  words  he  muttered ; 

The  maiden  fluttered; 
I  know  his  whisper  she  flushed  to  hear. 

But  why  so  bold, 

Or  what  he  told, 

While  bending  there  by  the  maiden  gay, 
She  never  has  owned  to  this  blessed  day. 

77 


HUBER- 

A  »J»n  man  under  the  linden  trees, 

I  i  li  iant  hour  by  hoar. 

The  tal,  white  dower  is  tapping  bis  knees  — 

CSLSCf 


"See!     See! 

He  comes.     My  bee  ! 

Good  friend,  you  know  who  is  come  to  me  !  "  — 

And  now  the  blind  man  sees, 

He  sees! 

Oh,  wonderful  eyes  of  the  sense  and  soul, 
Eyes  that,  seeing  the  least  so  weft. 
Most  see  the  whole  ! 

.-.'-  '_         "  TT-.  - 

With  your  booms  and  brazings  that  daze  the  air, 
Tov  droning  «-*4r«T  with  mystic  swefl, 
Your  pilot  nffils  and  iMJiHiingj  rare, 
And  the  hoards  yon  drew 
From  bloom  and  dew.  — 


_j :    y:_     ..-...;  -•     ;-     -_-. -     .~.M.M    ;•  -  _    ;._"•- 

«'i  *"_  ~      v.   ~  7"*I  "*     ~^r.  L     *"  —   T ,*       !~.     1.".  7 


V;  _    .-—-    >  :  _:   -:    re 
Of  Nature's  kxe. 


G-.-.-r.i   r.-.::-.   ^-^r    ::'  :re 

.•r—  - 


FIRE-FLIES. 

SEE  the  air  filling  near  by  and  afar, — 
A  shadowy  host — how  brilliant  they  are! 

Silently  Hitting,  spark  upon  spark, 
Gemming  the  willows  out  in  the  dark; 

Waking  the  night  in  a  twinkling  surprise, 
Making  the  star-light  pale  where  they  rise; 

Snowing  soft  fire-flakes  into  the  grass, 
Lighting  the  face  of  each  daisy  they  pass; 

Startling  the  darkness,  over  and  over, 
Where  the  sly  pimpernel  kisses  the  clover; 

Piercing  the  duskiest  heights  of  the  pines ; 
Drowsily  poised  on  the  low-swinging  vines  ; 

80 


FIRE-FLIES.  81 

Suddenly  shifting  their  tapers  around, 

Now  on  the  fences,  and  now  on  the  ground, 

Now  in  the  bushes  and  tree-tops,  and  then 
Pitching  them  far  into  darkness  again; 

There  like  a  shooting- star,  slowly  on  wing, 
Here  like  the  flash  of  a  dowager's  ring; 

Setting  the  dark,  croaking  hollows  a-gleam, 
Spangling  the  gloom  of  the  ghoul-haunted  stream; 

They  pulse  and  they  sparkle  in  shadowy  play, 
Like  a  night  fallen  down  with  its  stars  all  astray; 

They  pulse  and  they  flicker,  they  kindle  afar, 
A  vanishing  host, — but  how  brilliant  they  are! 


1 1 


WHERE    IGNORANCE   IS   BLISS. 

Two  little  sorrel  blossoms,  pale  and  slender, 

Lean  to  each  other  in  the  cool,  tall  grass; 
The  crowding  spears  with  gallant  air  and  tender, 
Shield  them  completely  from  the  sun's  fierce  splendor, 

Till  harmlessly  an  angry  wind  might  pass. 
And  I  stand  smiling  with  a  sudden  whim: 

"  The  little  innocents !     Now  am  I  sure 

They  think  them  in  a  forest  grand  and  dim, 
The  mighty  grass  coeval  with  their  birth, — 
Shut  from  the  world,  from  every  ill  secure, 

And  where  their  thicket  ends,  there  ends  the  earth  !  r< 


READING. 

ONE  day  in  the  bloom  of  a  violet 

I  found  a  simple  word; 
And  my  heart  went  softly  humming  it, 

Till  the  violet  must  have  heard. 

And  deep  in  the  depth  of  a  crimson  rose 

A  writing  showed  so  plain, 
I  scanned  it  over  in  veriest  joy 

To  the  patter  of  summer  rain. 

And  then  from  the  grateful  mignonette 

I  read  —  ah,  such  a  thing! 
That  the  glad  tears  fell  on  it  like  dew, 

And  my  soul  was  ready  to  sing. 

A  few  little  words !     Before  that  day 

I  never  had  taken  heed; 
But,  oh,  how  I  blessed  the  love  that  came 

The  love  that  taught  me  to  read  ! 
83 


THE    MISTAKE. 

LITTLE  Rosy  Redcheek  said  unto  a  clover: 

"  Flower,  why  were  you  made  ? 

I  was  made  for  mother, 

She  has  n't  any  other, 

But  you  were  made  for  no  one,  I'm  afraid." 

Then  the  clover  softly  unto  Redcheek  whispered: 

"  Pluck  me,  ere  you  go." 

Redcheek,  little  dreaming, 

Pulled,  and  ran  off  screaming, 

"Oh,  naughty,  naughty  flower  to  sting  me  so  ! " 

"  Foolish  one  !  "   the  startled  bee  buzzed  crossly, 

"  Foolish  not  to  see 

That  I  make  my  honey, 

While  the  day  is  sunny  ; 

That  the  pretty  little  clover  lives  for  me." 


A   TALE    OF    THANKS. 

DEAR  rose!  that  tinted  my  baby's  cheek, 
I  praise  thee  more  than  words  can  speak; 
And  gentian  !  darling  of  autumn  skies, 
I  thank  thee  for  her  soft  blue  eyes; 
Oh,  summer  brook!  from  thy  ripples  bright 
Her  smiles  do  borrow  their  dancing  light; 
And  satin  cell  of  the  chestnut  burr, 
What  lustre  of  hair  thou  hast  lent  to  her ! 
Oh,  lithe  young  sapling,  growing  apace, 
Honor  to  thee  for  her  supple  grace; 
And  living  sunshine,  well  I  know 
Thou  gavest  her  warm  young  heart  its  glow. 
In  truth,  not  a  charm  of  earth  or  sky 
But  comes  for  my  girl  to  pattern  by; 
And  truly  I  thank  you,  every  one, 
For  the  sweetest  lassie  the  sun  shines  on  ! 
85 


WRITTEN    ON    THE    ROAD. 

(MAY,    1879.) 

OUT  in  the  sunshine  fair  and  free, 
Flecked  by  the  blossoming,  re-born  tree, 
Bathed  in  the  pale,  pure  light  of  Spring, 
While  men  look  up,  and  the  glad  birds  sing, — 
There,  dear  friend,  let  thy  reck'ning  be, 
So  let  thy  birthdays  come  to  thee ! 

Firm  as  the  tall,  brave  trunks  around; 

Full  of  life  as  the  flower-full  ground ; 

Free  as  the  boughs  that  sweep  the  blue; 

Bright  as  the  violet's  sudden  hue ; — 
So  let  thy  life-long  reck'ning  be, 
So  let  thy  birthdays  come  to  thee ! 

It  was  cool  and  gray  in  the  twilight  morn — 
A  prophecy  sweetest — when  thou  wast  born; 
And  if  daylight  gathered  a  cloud  or  two 
That  floated  beside  thee  when  life  was  new, 

86 


UNISON.  87 

Thy  noon  will  be  sunny  and  clear,  I  know, 
And  holy  and  peaceful  thine  evening  glow — 
For  good  and  true  shall  thy  reck'ning  be 
Till  all  thy  birthdays  are  come  to  thee. 


•      UNISON. 

OVER  us  the  wild,  cool  Night 

Spread  her  dark  tresses  heavy  with  quick  gems, 
Till  in  the  twinkling  blackness,  lithe  and  light, 

We  felt  like  wood-flowers  swung  on  hidden  stems. 


THE    FLOWERS. 

THEY  'RE  coming  !  they  're  coming ! 

T  is  writ  on  the  air, 
In  incense  and  harmony 

Breathed  everywhere ! 
Winds  murmur  no  longer 

Their  woe  to  the  pines — 
But  spiders  are  spinning 

Their  gossamer  lines. 
Blue-birds  are  darting 

The  branches  among, 
Wild  with  a  pleasure 

Only  half  sung. 
Willows  are  greening 

Down  by  the  brook; 
Insects  are  stirring 

In  forest  and  nook; 


THE  FLOWERS.  89 

Sunlight  is  bringing 

Buttercups  sweet — 
Hear  the  grass  whisper 

Under  our  feet! 
Telling  of  daisies, 

Telling  of  clover, 
Telling  of  beauty 

All  the  world  over. 

They  're  coming  !     They  're  coming ! 

The  beautiful  throng, 
To  soothe  us  and  cheer  us 

The  whole  summer  long. 
By  brook,  and  in  meadow, 

Woodland  and  glade, 
Through  moonlight  and  star-light 

Sunshine  and  shade, 
They  're  creeping,  they  're  springing, 

They  're  climbing  the  hill, 
They  're   twining  and  clinging — 

Though  underground  still; 


12 


90  THE  FLOWERS. 


The  blue-birds  have  called  them, — 

The  roses  and  all; 
They  have  heard,  and  already 

They  answer  the  call! 

O  Snow-white  and  Purple, 

Pink,  Yellow  and  Blue! 
Lie  close  to  their  hearts 

Till  the  day  they  come  through 
O  Spirit  of  Beauty ! 

Spirit  of  Grace  ! 
Still  bide  ye  above  them 

Watching  the  place. 
Fragrance  and  loveliness 

Still  hover  near, 
Soon  shall  your  hosts 

In  their  glory  appear. 
Surely  the   Spring-time 

Is  crowning  its  hours — 
They  're  coming  !     They  're  coming 

The  beautiful  flowers  ! 


FULFILLMENT. 

WAKING  in  May,  the  peach-tree  thought : 
"  Idle  and  bare  and  weaving  naught ! 
Here  have  I  slept  the  winter  through  — 
I  with  my  Master's  work  to  do  ! " 

Started  the  buds.     The  blossoms  came, 
Till  all  the  branches  were  a-flame. 
She  rocked  the  birds,  and  wove  the  green, 
A  busy  tree  as  ever  was  seen. 

Busy  and  blithe,  she  drank  the  dew; 
She  caught  the  sunbeams  gliding  through; 
She  drew  her  wealth  from  sky  and  soil, 
And  rustled  gayly  in  her  toil. 


Now  see  the  peach-tree's  drooping  head, 
With  all  her  fruit  a-blushing  red  ! 
Knowing  her  Master's  work  is  done, 
She  meekly  resteth  in  the  sun. 

91 


GREETINGS. 

"  Good  day !  "  cried  one  who  drove  to  West, 

"  Good  day  !  "  the  other,  Eastward  bound ; — 

Strong,  hearty  voices  both,  that  rang 

Above  their  wagons'  rattling  sound. 

And  I,  within  my  snug  home  nest, 

"  Good  day  !  good  day  !  "  still  softly  sang. 

I  saw  them  not,  yet  well  I  knew 

How  much  a  cheery  word  can  do, 

How  braced  those  hearts  that  on  their  way 

Speed,  each  to  each,  a  brave  "  good  day  ! " 


9* 


TO    A    FRIEND. 

I  ROAMED  with  thee  the  mountain-side, 
And,  with  thee,  watched  the  shadows  fall ; 

The  sun  went  down,  but  night  flung  wide 
A  glory  mightier  than  all. 

And  we  have  walked  the  fields,  we  twain, 
And  said :  "  How  fair  the  distance  shows ! 

How  far  they  blend — the  sky  and  plain! 
How  holy-bright  the  twilight  glows !  " 

And,  hill  or  plain,  thy  soul  was  high, — 
High  as  the  peaks  that  lift  to  God; 

And  not  more  true  than  thee  the  sky 
That  shone,  as  on  our  way  we  trod. 


93 


MARCH. 

Ho !  warrior  month,  my  Martius,  hail ! 
With  battling  breeze  and  clarion  call 

Thou  rushest  over  hill  and  vale. 

Before  thee  kneels  the  glowing  year; 

Behind,  thy  glittering  hosts  appear. 
To  rescue  earth  from  icy  thrall 
Thou  comest,  bravest  month  of  all ! 

Dear,  bustling  March,  my  Fruhling    come ! 
First  month  to-day,  as  first  of  old. 

Thine  the  fresh  song  and  wakened  hum  ; 

Thine  the  glad  rill's  recovered  flow, 

And  thine  the  stir  the  sod  below. 

Thy  rap  and  tap  and  summons  bold 
Startle  the  earth  from  slumber's  hold. 


MARCH.  95 

O  month  content !     My  heart  to  thee ! 

No  clamor  now,  no  sudden  throe  — 
The  earth  is  roused ;   her  soul  is  free  ; 
How  calm  art  thou,  thy  victory  won, 
How  restful,  in  the  restful  sun ! 

The  maiden  April  cometh  slow, 

Thou  'It  greet  her  like  a  king,  and  go. 


NOW    THE    NOISY    WINDS    ARE    STILL." 

Now  the  noisy  winds  are  still ; 

April 's  coming  up  the  hill ! 

All  the  spring  is  in  her  train, 

Led  by  shining  ranks  of  rain ; 
Pit,  pat,  patter,  clatter, 
Sudden  sun,  and  clatter,  patter!  — 

First  the  blue,  and  then  the  shower; 

Bursting  bud,  and  smiling  flower; 

Brooks  set  free  with  tinkling  ring; 

Birds  too  full  of  song  to  sing; 

Crisp  old  leaves  astir  with  pride, 

Where  the  timid  violets  hide, — 

All  things  ready  with  a  will, — 

April  's  coming  up  the  hill ! 


CALLING    THE    FLOWERS. 

THE  wind  is  shaking  the  old  dried  leaves 

That  would  not  quit  their  hold  ; 
The  sun  slips  under  the  stiffened  grass, 

And  drives  away  the  cold. 

Child  Franca  carries  the  dinner-horn 

To  summon  home  the  men  ; 
She  raises  it  high  for  a  ringing  blast, 

But  silent  it  falls  again : 

"  The  men  on  the  hill  are  hungry,  I  know, 
They  've  been  working  for  hours  and  hours ; 

But  first  I  will  blow  just  as  kind  as  I  can 
To  call  out  the  sweet  little  flowers, — 

"  Blow  loud  for  the  blossoms  that  live  in  the  trees, 
And  low  for  the  daisies  and  clover; 

But  as  soft  as  I  can  for  the  violets  shy, 
Yes,  softly — and  over  and  over." 

13  97 


A    SONG    OF    MAY. 

MY  heart  is  light  with  May,  with  May, 
My  heart  is  light  with  May ! 

The  sky  is  soft;  the  coming  birds 
Are  silent  on  their  way. 

The  miracle  of  flower  and  fruit 
Not  yet  the  Lord  hath  wrought ; 

But  never  ripened  Summer-time 
So  bright  a  day  hath  brought. 

For  there  is  promise  in  the  air, 

And  murmurous  prophecy ; 
All  breathless  and  with  lifted  arms, 

Stand  waiting  shrub  and  tree. 

To-morrow  shall  the  blossoms  glow ; 
At  dawn  the  birds  will  sing; 

98 


SURPRISE.  99 

All  through  the  stillness  deep  I  hear 
The  rushing  tide  of  Spring. 

My  heart  is  light  with  May,  with  May, 

My  heart  is  light  with  May  ! 
And  all  the  more  that  coming  birds 

Are  silent  on  their  way. 


SURPRISE. 

WHAT  was  the  moon  a-spying 
Out  of  her  half-shut  eye  ? 

One  of  her  stars  went  flying 
Across  the  broad,  blue  sky. 


BLOSSOM-SNOW. 

MARCH  came  one  morn  to  the  door  of  May, 
And  begged  the  maiden  to  let  him  stay. 
"  I  went  too  soon,"  was  his  whining  prayer, 
"  I  knew  not  the  earth  could  grow  so  fair." 
So  she  let  him  in;  and  he  promised  her 
He  would  hardly  breathe  and  never  stir. 

And  all  day  long  he  kept  his  word ; 

Naught  from  the  sly  old  guest  was  heard. 

Now  and  then  he  would  breathe  a  sigh 

And  startle  the  blue-birds  passing  by ; 

Or  hidden  violets  uncover, 

Or  try  to  blow   some   daisy   over ; 

Yet,  for  the  rest,  he  kept  his  word, — 

He  hardly  breathed,  and  he  never  stirred, 

Till  the  sweet  May  murmured  :    "  Now,  my  dear, 

We  really  do  not  need  you  here, 

My  flowers  are  frightened — don't  you  see  ? 

They  'd  rather  be  alone  with  me." 


BLOSSOM-SNOW.  101 

High  overhead  the  blossoms  hung; 
Full  gently  had  the  tree-tops  swung. 
But  now  he  rose  in  sudden  wrath 
And  whitened  all  the  sunny  path. 
"  Oho  !  "  cried  he,  "  if  I  must  go 
I  11  turn  her  blossoms  into  snow !  " 

Clinging  and  warm,  they  felt  the  spell. 
Ah,  how  they  fluttered,  floated,  fell! 
The  air  was  full  of  eddying  bloom, — 
A  lightsome,  flowery  dance  of  doom. 
'In  flurried  heaps  at  last  it  lay, 
Or  drifted  silently  away  ; 
And  still  he  shook,  "  Good-bye !  Good-bye  !  " 
Then  vanished  in  the  trackless  sky. 

The  branches  whispered  :  "  Now  for  fruit !  " 
And  thrilled  with  joy  from  tip  to  root. 
May,  kneeling,  kissed  the  fragrant  ground; 
The  air  was  filled  with  peace  profound; 
For  all  things  smiled,  and  seemed  to  know 
The  promise  of  the  blossom-snow. 


THE    CONCERT. 

SUCH  a  concert,  dear,  as  I  've  had  to-night ! 
Full  of  sweet  sound  and  deep  delight ; 

And  yet  "  the  house  "  was  poor ; 
Poor,  if  you  count  by  crowded  seats; 
But  judging  only  by  glad  heart-beats, 

'T  was  a  splendid  house,  I  'm  sure. 

First,  Baby  sang  as  well  as  she  could 

Some  sweet  little  notes  that  I  understood; 

And  wee  Kate's  chirp  of  a  laugh  broke  out 

As  Willy  ran  in  with  a  merry  shout ; 

The  pussy  purred  on  the  rug  in  state, 

And  the  good  clock  ticked :  "  It  's  late !  it  's  late ! 


THE   CONCERT.  103 

While  faint  in  the  shadows  the  cricket  sang, 
And  the  kettle  hummed  with  a  plaintive  twang. 

That  was  Part  First,  you  must  know,  my  dear, 
When  only  we  five  were  there  to  hear; 

The  fagots  crackled  applause ; 
The  baby's  soft  little  pat-a-cake 
Made  reckless  encores  for  the  music's  sake, 

And  "  lullaby  "  brought  us  the  pause. 

Well,  the  Second  Part?     Ah  that  was  fine — 
Fine  to  the  heart's  core,  lover  mine! 
For  over  the  kettle's  winsome  plaint, 
And  the  baby's  breathing,  sweet  and  faint, 
And  over  the  prattle  of  Will  and  Kate, 
And  the  clock's  impatient  "  Late !    it  's  late !  " 
I  heard  the  blessedest  sound  of  all — 
A  click  of  the  latch,  a  step  in  the  hall ! 
And  "  Home,  sweet  home  "  pulsed  all  the  air 
As  you  came  calling  up  the  stair. 


ANOTHER    YEAR. 

OLD  man  with  the  hour-glass,  halt!  halt!   I  pray  — 
Don't  you  see  you  are  taking  my  children  away  ? 
My  own  little  babies  who  came  long  ago, 
You   stole   them,   old   man  with    the   beard  white  as 
snow  ! 

My  beautiful  babies,  so  bonny  and  bright ! 
Where  have  you  carried  them,  far  out  of  sight  ? 
Oh,  dimpled  their  cheeks  were,  and  sunny  their  hair ! 
But  I  cannot  find  them ;    I  've  searched  everywhere. 

My  three-year-old  'toddlers,  they  shouted  in  glee ; 
They  sported  about  me  ;  they  sat  on  my  knee. 
Oh,  their  prattle  and  laughter  were  silvery  rain  ! 
Old  man,  must  I  list  for  their  voices  in  vain  ? 

They   were    here ;    they  were    gone  while    their  kisses 

were  warm. 
I  scarce  knew  the   hour  when   they  slipped  from  my 

arm  — 

104 


ANOTHER    YEAR.  105 

Oh !   where  was  I  looking  when,  peerless  and  sweet, 
They  followed  the  track  of  your  echoless  feet  ? 

My  brave  little  school-boys  who  ran  in  and  out, 
And  lifted  the  air  with  their  song  and  their  shout: 
My  boys  on  the  coldest  days  ever  a-glow, 
My  dear,  romping  school-boys  who  bothered  me  so ! 

There  were  two  of  them  then;  and  one  of  the  two  — 
Ah!  I  never  was  watchful  enough — followed  you. 
My  chubby-faced  darling,  my  kite-flying  pet — 
Alack!  all  his  playthings  are  lying  here  yet. 

And  the  other.     O  Time  !  do  not  take  him  away  ! 
For  a  few  precious  years,  I  implore,  let  him  stay. 
I  love  him — I  need  him  —  my  blessing  and  joy! 
You  have  had  all  the  rest;   leave  me  one  little  boy! 

He  halts !     He  will  stop !     No  ;   the  fall  of  the  sand 
In  the  hour-glass  deceived  me.     It  seemed  at  a  stand. 
But  whom  have  we  here?   Jamie!    Harry!    how?    why, 
Just  as  many  as  ever — and  Time  passing  by? 
14 


io6  ANOTHER    YEAR. 

Jamie,  my  bouncer,  my  man-boy,  my  pride ! 
Harry,  my  sunbeam,  whatever  betide  — 
I  can  hardly  believe  it.     But  surely  it  's  clear 
My  babies,  my  toddlers,  my  school-boys  are  here ! 

Move  on  then,  O  Time!    I  have  nothing  to  say, 
You  have  left  me  far  more   than  you  Ve  taken  away, 
And  yet  I  would  whisper  a  word  ere  you  go ; 
You  Ve   a   year   of   my   Harry's  —  the   last   one,  you 
know  — 

How  does  it  rank  among  those  that  have  flown? 
Was  it  worthily  used  when  he  called  it  his  own  ? 
God  filled  it  with  happiness,  comfort  and  health  — 
Did  my  darling  spend  rightly  its  Love-given  wealth  ? 

No  answer  in  words.     Yet  it  really  did  seem 

That   the    sand   sparkled   lightly  —  the   scythe   sent  a 

gleam. 

Is  it  answer  and  promise  ?     God  grant  it  be  so, 
From    that    silent    old   man    with    the   beard  white  as 

snow. 


THE   MINUET. 

GRANDMA  told  me  all  about  it, 

Told  me  so  I  could  n't  doubt  it, 

How  she  danced — my  Grandma  danced!- 

Long  ago. 

How  she  held  her  pretty  head, 
How  her  dainty  skirt  she  spread, 
Turning  out  her  little  toes; 
How  she  slowly  leaned  and  rose — 

Long  ago. 

Grandma's  hair  was  bright  and  sunny ; 
Dimpled  cheeks,  too— ah,  how  funny! 
Really  quite  a  pretty  girl, 

Long  ago. 

Bless  her!  why,  she  wears  a  cap, 
Grandma  does,  and  takes  a  nap 
Every  single  day;  and  yet 
Grandma  danced  the  minuet 
Long  ago. 


THE   MINUET. 

Now  she  sits  there,  rocking,  rocking, 
Always  knitting  Grandpa's  stocking — 
(Every  girl  was  taught  to  knit 

Long  ago.) 

Yet  her  figure  is  so  neat, 
And  her  ways  so  staid  and  sweet, 
I  can  almost  see  her  now 
Bending  to  her  partner's  bow, 
Long  ago. 

Grandma  says  our  modern  jumping, 
Hopping,  rushing,  whirling,  bumping, 
Would  have  shocked  the  gentle  folk 

Long  ago, 

No — they  moved  with   stately  grace, 
Everything  in  proper  place, 
Gliding  slowly  forward,  then 
Slowly  courtseying  back  again, 

Long  ago. 

Modern  ways  are  quite  alarming, 
Grandma  says ;   but  boys  were  charming- 


THE   MINUET.  109 

Girls  and  boys,  I   mean,  of  course  — 

Long  ago. 

Brave  but  modest,  grandly  shy, — 
She  would  like  to  have  us  try 
Just  to  feel  like  those  who  met 
In  the  graceful  minuet 

Long  ago. 

Were  the  minuet  in  fashion, 
Who  could  fly  into  a  passion  ? 

All  would  wear  the  calm  they  wore 

Long  ago. 

In  time  to  come,  if  I,  perchance, 
Should  tell  my  grandchild  of  our  dance, 
I  should  really  like  to  say: 
"  We  did  it,  dear,  in  some  such  way, 

Long  ago." 


MOTHERLESS. 

"  I  WISH  she  had  not  died,"  she  said ; 

The  words  were  soft  and  low ; 
"  Most  little  girls  like  me,  papa, 

Have  dear  mammas,  you  know. 

"There  's  Lulu  Hart  next  door.     Oh,  dear  ! 

I  think  it  is  so  sweet 
To  have  your  mother  nod  to  you 

Across  the  window-seat. 

"  And  often  when  we  're  playing  games, 

Lu  throws  a  kiss  up  there ; 
And  when  she  rolls  her  hoople  well, 

She  knows  some  one  will  care. 

"  Do  you  think  God  was  good  to  take 

My  own  mamma  away  ? 
For  I  was  just  a  baby  then  — 

Papa,  why  don't  you  say  ? " 


MOTHERLESS.  m 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  child,"  he  sobbed.     "  Mamma 

Is  very  happy,  dear." 
His  little  girl  sprang  up,  nor  cared 

Another  word  to  hear. 

"  Why,  papa,  crying  !     Please  don't  cry. 

Do  you  feel  sorry,  too  ? 
Now,  papa,  see.     I  never  meant 

I  did  n't  care  for  you. 

"  Poor  eyes !  all  wet.     I  '11  kiss  them  dry. 

What  's  in  your  pocket  ?     See. 
Oh,  where  's  your  watch  ?     Now,  wont  you  please 

Just  make  it  tick  for  me  ? 

"  It  's  nice  to  have  a  dear  papa ; — 

How  big  it  is,  and  bright! 
I  hear  it  ticky,  ticky,  tick  ! 

It  's  very  loud  to-night. 

"  Ride  me  to  Banbury  Cross,  papa ! 
Now  don't  you  let  me  fall. 


2  MOTHERLESS. 

When  I  was  littler,  how  I  slipped ! 
I  could  n't  keep  on  at  all. 

"  Oh,   there   's  the   tea-bell !     Now   you   've  tossed 

My  hair  like  everything ! 
I  '11  toss  yours,  too.     Oho  !  oho ! 

You  look  just  like  a  king  — 

"  For  kings  have  crowns,  you  know,  papa, 

And  your  hair  's  standing  straight. 
I  knew  you  'd  laugh.     There,  now,  you  're  good  — 

Come,  quick,  and  show  Aunt  Kate." 


Aunt,  at  the  table,  glanced  at  one, 

Then,  slyly,  at  the  other; 
She  could  not  think  what  hidden  thing 

Had  happened  to  her  brother. 
His  shining  hair  stood  like  a  crown, 

His  smile  was  warm  and  bright, — 
"  Why,  John,"  she  said,  "  you  really  seem 

Like  your  old  self  to-night." 


WILLIE. 

THREE-YEAR-OLD  Willie,  barefooted  Willie, 

Willie  with  hair  in  a  golden-thread  tangle; 
Tottering  Willie,  self-helping  Willie, 

Child  in  whom  sweetness  and  poverty  wrangle; 
Willie,  whose  mother  toils  in  my  kitchen; 

Willie,  whose  father  carried  a  hod; 
Willie,  whose  childish  disdain  is  bolder 

Than  the  pride  of  the  emperor,  favored  of  God. 

Why  dost  thou  knock  at  my  heart,  little  pauper, 

Bidding  me  love  thee,  entering  there, 
Sitting  beside  little  cherubs  who  blessed  me, 

Thy  manner  half  saucy  and  half  debonair  ? 
With  garments  all  tattered  and  soiled,  little  Willie, 

And  face  all  begrimed  ?   T  is  not  fitting,  you  know,- 
Velvet  and  laces  are  fine,  naughty  Willie, 

And  poor  little  boys  should  not  come  to  me  so. 

15  «3 


114  WILLIE. 

The  chubby  intruder,  still  wickedly  smiling, 

And  ah,  what  a  shout!  —  Is  he  laughing  at  me? 
Can  the  rascal  know  even  the  thoughts  I  am  thinking? — 

Now  rushes  upon  me  and  climbs  to  my  knee. 
And  though  he  is  silent,  I  hear  him  quite  plainly  — 

To  listening  hearts  how  a  baby  can  speak  ! — 
He  tells  me,  while  laces  and  tatters  are  blending, 

And  his  sunshiny  tangles  are  brushing  my  cheek: 

"I'm  a  poor  little  fellow,  with  no  one  to  teach  me; 

But  my  soul  is  a  new  one — fresh  from  God; 
And  He  gave  me  something  so  brave  and  holy, 

It  never  can  turn  to  an  earthly  clod. 
The  birds  never  sing,  '  Little  Willie  is  ragged ! ' 

Nor  the  flowers,  *  He  will  soil  us.    Take  him  away ! ' 
But  they  're  glad  when  I  happen  to  look  and  to  listen, 

And  the  blue  sky  is  over  me  night  and  day. 

"  And  what  if  my  father,  with  hod  and  trowel, 
Carried  and  toiled  the  whole  day  long, — 

Did  n't  he  comfort  my  mother  and  love  her  ? 
Did  n't  he  cheer  her  with  frolic  and  song  ? 


WILLIE.  115 

I  never  saw  him.     One  bright  autumn  morning, 
Just  three  years  ago,  he  went  off  to  the  war; 

Went  off  to  battle  for  you  and  your  country, 
And  then — he  never  came  back  any  more. 

"  Nevermore  labored  with  hod  and  with  trowel, 

Never  came  back  with  his  joke  and  his  song. 
Mother  would  know  only  working  and  weeping 

If  I  were  not  sunny  and  careless  and  strong. 
She  chides  me  and  kisses  me,  beats  me  and  blesses, 

And  prays  to  the  saints  that  her  boy  may  be  good; 
Were  she  rich,  she  would  keep  me  as  clean  as  a  daisy, 

Not  ragged  and  soiled  in  my  fresh  babyhood." 

Say  no  more,  Willie  !     Mock  me  and  love  me  ! 

Into  my  heart  enter  blithesomely  still. 
Bright  little  soldier's  boy,  poor  little  worker's  boy, 

Shame  to  the  coward  who  uses  thee  ill! 


THE    FOOT-PRINT    IN    THE    SNOW. 

HEAVY  and  white  the  cold  snow  lay, 

As,  nearing  my  cottage  one  winter  day, 

I  saw  by  the  porch  a  foot-print  small, 

A  bare  little  foot-print,  toes  and  all, 

Pressed — ah,  so 'wearily  ! — into  the  snow, 

As  if  the  wee  step  had  been  jaded  and  slow. 

"Poor  little  homeless  waif!"     I  thought; 

But  the  fleeting  sympathy  came  to  naught  — 

For  pity  may  fall  from  a  heart  that  's  gay 

As  lightly  as  snow-flakes  melting  away; 

And    soon    would    be    greeting    me,    strong    in    their 

charms, 
Bright  little  faces  and  warm  little  arms. 

Closing  the  door,  in  a  joyous  glow, 

I  chided  the  children  for  crowding  me  so  — 

The  glad  little  witches !  as  sunny  and  blessed 

As  ever  a  home-coming  mother  caressed. 

Then  I  caught  up  the  youngest,  unnoticed  before, 

My  sweet  little  Mabel,  who  sat  on  the  floor. 

116 


THE   FOOT-PRINT  IN  THE  SNOW.  117 

"  Why,  my  darling !  What  is  it  ? "  I  cried,  in  sur 
prise  ; 

"  Barefooted  !  "     The  little  one  lifted  her  eyes ; 

They  were  brimming  with  tears,  and  her  cheek,  too, 
was  wet — 

"  Oh,  my  feet  hurt  me  so ! "  "  What  has  harmed 
them,  my  pet  ?  " 

"Why,  just  to  see  how  it  felt,  you  know, 

I  stood  with  my  shoes  off  out  there  in  the  snow." 

That  was  all.     But  while  fondling  and  making   them 

warm  — 

The  dear  little  feet  that  had  tempted  the  storm — 
And  putting  on  soft  little  stocking  and  shoe, 
A  feeling  of  sudden  remorse  pierced  me  through. 
That  lingering  foot-print!     How  soon  I  forgot 
WTien  I  thought  't  was  a  beggar-child  passed  by  my 

cot ! 

0  pale-blossomed  pity  that  never  bore  fruit!  — 

1  will  pluck  it  away  from  my  heart,  branch  and  root. 
Love  teaches  at  last.     Now  their  meaning  I  know— . 
The  bare  little  foot-prints  we  see  in  the  snow. 


HOW    THE    NEW    YEAR    CAME. 

THE  sun  was  sinking  out  of  sight. 

"Bessie,"  said  Herbert,  "have  you  heard? 

It  's  really  true,  upon  my  word, 
This  year  is  going  away  to-night. 

It  's  time  is  up,  they  say,  and  so 

At  midnight  it  will  have  to  go. 

And  right  away  another  year 

Will  come  along,  a  real  New  Year, 

As  soft  as  any  'mouse — 
So  soft  we  '11  hardly  hear  it  creep — 

Yes,  come  right  to  this  very  house, 
While  every  one  's  asleep ! " 

Now,  Bessie's  eyes  grew  wide  to  hear. 
"  Let  's  keep  awake,"  she  cried,  "  and  so 
We  '11  see  one  come  and  see  one  go — 

Two  years  at  once !     How  very  queer  ? 
Let  's  tell  the  New  Year  it  is  bad, 
We  want  the  one  we  've  always  had, 

118 


HO IV  THE   NEW   YEAR   CAME.  119 

With  birds  and  flowers  and  things  that  grow, 

And  funny  ice  and  pretty  snow. 

It  had  my  birthday,  too,  in  May, 
And  yours — when  was  it  ?  and  you  know 

How  it  had  Fourth  o'  July  one  day, 
And  Christmas.     Oh!  it  mustn't  go  !" 

"Ha!  ha!"  laughed  Herbert,  "what  a  Bess! 
This  year  was  new  when  first  it  came. 
The  next  one  will  be  just  the  same 

As  this  that  's  going  now,  I  guess. 

That  's  nothing.     But  what  bothers  me 
Is  how  the  change  is  going  to  be. 
I  can't  see  how  one  year  can  go 
And  one  can  come  at  midnight,  so 
All  in  a  minute — that's  the  bother! 

I  've  heard  them  say  'the  rolling  year'; 
You  'd  think  they  'd  roll  on  one  another, 
Unless  they  knew  just  how  to  steer." 

r¥he  speck  of  time  'twixt  day  and  day 
Was  close  at  hand.     Herbert  and  Bess 


HOW  'THE   NEW   YEAR    CAME. 

Had  won  their  parents'  smiling  "  Yes," 

To  watch  the  old  year  go  away. 
All  but  the  children  were  asleep, 
And  years  might  roll,  or  years  might  creep, 
For  all  they  cared ;    while  Bess  and  Bert, 

Who  never  moved  and  scarcely  spoke, 
Watched  the  great  clock,  awake,  alert, 

All  breathless  for  the  coming  stroke. 

Soon  Bessie  whispered :  "  Nell  don't  care." 
Nell  was  her  doll.     And  Herbert  said, 
"  The  clock  's  so  far  up  overhead 

It  makes  me  wink  to  watch  it  there, 

The  great  tall  thing  !     Let  's  look  inside ! " 
And  so  its  door  they  opened  wide. 

TICK-A-TICK  !     How  loud  it  sounded  ! 
Bessie's  heart  with  wonder  bounded. 
How  the  great  round  thing  that  hung 
Down  the  middle,  swung  and  swung ! 
Tick,  a-tick,  a-tick,  a-tick —  „ 

Dear,  how  loud  it  was  and  quick  ! 


HOW  THE   NEW   YEAR   CAME.  121 

Tick-a,  tick-a,  tick-a,  tick-a  .' 
Surely  it  was  growing  quicker ! 
While  the  swinging  thing  kept  on 
Back  and  forth,  and  never  done. 

There !  It  's  coming !  Loud  and  clear, 
Each  ringing  stroke  the  night  alarms. 
Bess,  screaming,  hid  in  Herbert's  anus. 

"  The  year ! "  he  cried,  "  the  year  !  the  year !  " 
"  Where  ? "   faltered  Bessie,  "  which  ?   where- 

'bouts?" 

But  still  "The  year!"  glad   Herbert  shouts; 
And  still  the  steady  strokes  rang  on 
Until  the  banished  year  was  gone. 
"We've  seen  the  Old  Year  out — hurrah!" 
"Oh!  oh!"  sobbed  Bessie,  "call  mamma. 
I  don't  like  years  to  racket  so  : 
It  frightens  me  to  hear  'em  go!" 
But  Herbert  kissed  away  her  tears, 
And,  gently  soothing  all  her  fears, 
He  heard  the  New  Year  coming  quick, 
Tick,  a-tick,  a-tick,  a-tick  ! 
16 


AT    THE    WINDOW. 

I  SIT  at  the  window  and  watch  her, 
With  my  work  before  me  spread, 

My  needle  flashing  and  foiling  the  light; 
She  trimmeth  her  garden-bed. 

No  word  do  I  speak  to  the  maiden 
As  she  trips  the  garden  round ; 

Yet  questions  go  and  answers  come, 
Though  not  on  the  wings  of  sound. 

"  Look  deep  in  the  rose,  my  Eunice, 

And  tell  me  what  you  find." 
"  I  find  a  love  that  is  sweet  and  warm 

Glowing  for  all  mankind." 

"  Now  turn  to  the  breeze,  my  Eunice, 

And  say  what  doth  it  bear." 
"  It  bears  in  the  touch  of  its  fragrant  flight 

A  promise  of  heavenly  care." 


AT  THE    WINDOW.  123 

"  Oh,  list  to  the  birds,  sweet  Eunice, 

And  tell  me  what  you  hear!" 
"  I  hear  a  shower  of  blessings  fall 

On  all  things  far  and  near." 

No  word  do  I  speak  to  the  maiden, 

As  she  trips  the  garden  round; 
Yet  the  questions  go  and  the  answers  come 

Though  not  on  the  wings  of  sound. 

For  I  know  in  the  soul  of  my  darling, 

Lighting  her  gladsome  youth, 
Abideth  a  love  for  the  Father  above 

Deep  as  her  sweetness  and  truth. 

I  sit  at  the  window  and  watch  her, 
Till  the  quick  tears  gather  and  fall; 

Then  quietly  turn  to  my  sewing  again, 
And  wonder  with  joy  at  it  all. 


KITTY. 

"  COME,  Kitty,  come  !  "  they  said, — 
But  Kitty  hesitated; 
Nodding  oft  her  pretty  head 

With,  fi  I  'm  coming  soon. 
Father  's  rowing  home,  I  know, 
I  cannot  think  what  keeps  him  so," 
And  still  she  stood  and  waited. — 

"  I  'm  coming  soon." 

"  Come,  Kit !  "  her  brothers  cried ; 

But   Kitty  by  the  water 

Still  eagerly  the  distance  eyed, 

With,  "  I  'm  coming  soon. 
Why  what  would  evening  be,"  said  she, 
"  Without  dear  father  home  to  tea  ? 
Without  his  '  Ho,  my  daughter !  '  —  ? 

I  'm  coming  soon." 


KITTY.  125 

"  Come,  Kate  !  "  her  mother  called, 
"  The  supper  's  almost  ready." 
But  Kitty  in  her  place   installed, 

Coaxed,  "  I  'm  coming  soon. 
Do  let  me  wait.     He  's  sure  to  come ; 
By  this  time  father  's  always  home — 
He  rows  so  fast  and  steady; 

I  'm  coming  soon." 

"  Come,  Kit ! "  they  half  implore. 

The  girl  is  softly  humming; 

She  hardly  hears  them  any  more, — 

But  "  I  'm  coming  soon  " 
Is  in  her  heart;  for  far  from  shore — 
Gliding  the  happy  waters  o'er — 
She  sees  the  boat,  and  cries,  "  He  's  coming! 

We  're  coming  soon  !  " 


AFTER    TEA. 

YES,  somewhere  far  off  on  the  ocean, 

A  lover  is  sailing  to  me — 
A  beautiful  lover!  Nurse  found  him 

To-night  in  my  cup,  after  tea. 

Whenever  the  cruel  wind  whistles, 
I  '11  think  of  that  ship  on  the  sea, 

And  tremble  with  terror  lest  something 
May  happen  quite  dreadful  to  me. 

» 

And  then,  when  the  moon  rises  softly, 
I  hardly  can  sleep  in  my  glee, 

For  I  '11  know  that  its  beautiful  splendor 
Is  lighting  my  lover  to  me. 

But  oh,  if  he  should  come  !     Why,  Nursey, 
I  'd  hide  like  a  mouse.     Deary  me ! 

What  nonsense  it  is !     But  you  should  n't 
Be  finding  such  things  in  my  tea. 
126 


A   BIRTHDAY    RHYME. 

TELL  me,  O  youth  so  straight  and  tall, 

So  glad  with  eager  thought ! 
Have  you  seen  of  late  a  bouncing  boy 

Brimful  of  merry  sport  ? 
Brimful  of  merry  sport  is  he, 

A  lad  of  fifteen  summers, 
With  velvet  lip  still  smooth  and  fair, 

But  a  fist  that  awes  all  comers. 

He  used  to  laugh  with  unconcern 

Whene'er  a  school-girl  met  him, 
Unconscious  quite  what  wondrous  power 

She  'd  have  in  time  to  fret  him. 
He  only  cared  for  "  fellows  "  then, 

And  "  ball,"  and  "  tag,"  and  "  shinny," 
And  thought  a  chap  who  brushed  his  hair 

Was  just  a  fop  or  ninny. 
127 


128  A    BIRTHDAY  RYHME. 

Somehow,  I  loved  this  bouncing  boy 

Because  he  was  my  own ; 
I  had  him  here  a  year  ago, 

And  know  not  where  he  's  flown. 
I  know  not  where  he  's  flown,  and  yet 

Whenever  you  are  near — 
It  's  very  odd! — I  'm  reconciled 

Because  you  grow  so  dear. 

You  bear  great  likeness  to  my  boy 

I  think,  and — strange  the  whim  ! — 
There  's  that  in  you  which  I  have  prayed 

Might  come  in  time  to  him. 
Then  if  you  '11  stay,  my  dashing  youth, 

And  love  me  like  the  other, 
I  '11  let  him  go,  and,  clasping  you,  . 

Be  still  a  happy  mother. 

So  hold  me  close,  my  bigger  boy, 

My  larger-hearted  Harry, 
With  broader  shoulders,  older  head, 

And  more  of  life  to  carry ; 


A    BIRTHDAY  RHYME.  129 

Hold  close,  and  whisper,  heart  to  heart, 

Our  Lord  has  blessed  us  truly, 
Since  every  year  we  love  so  well 

And  find  it  out  so  newly. 

With  deepened  joy  and  prayerful  love, 

All  in  the  autumn's  splendor, 
I  hail  you,  boy  of  mine,  and  give 

A  welcome  proud  and  tender. 
T  is  grand  to  take  the  birthdays  in, 

If,  while  the  years  we  're  counting, 
In  heart  and  soul,  in  hope  and  aim, 

We  steadily  keep  mounting. 


THANKSGIVING. 

ALL  their  heads  were  bowed  in  prayer,- 
Father's,  mother's,  boys'  and  girls', 

Grandma's,  grandpa's — only  Nelly, 
Little  Nelly,  shook  her  curls. 

Little  Nelly  shook  her  curls, 

Smiling,  gazing,  all  intent, 
Stared,  as  ever,  at  the  sight — 

Wondered  what  on  earth  it  meant. 

Busy  fire-light,  flashing  bright, 
Shot  its  frisky  flamelets  out; 

While  the  ship  above  the  clock 
Gayly  tossed  and  pitched  about. 

Roasted  turkey,  on  his  back, 
And  the  chickens,  side  by  side, 

Had  a  perky,  pompous  air, 
Full  of  jollity  and  pride  j 

130 


THANKSGIVING.  131 

Tempting  pies  and  puddings  near, 
Held  their  faces  to  the  light; 

While  canary  in  his  cage, 

Piped  and  sang  with  all  his  might. 

Flowery  carpet  under-foot, 

Hanging  basket  all  a-bloom, 
Pearly,  picture-covered  wall — 

Drew  the  sunlight  to  the  room. 

Little  Nelly  felt  it  all, 

Felt  how  bright  it  was  and  fair;. 
And  the  moment  seemed  so  long 

That  the  heads  were  bowed  in  prayer. 

if  they  only  knew,  she  thought, 
How  the  room  was  full  of  play,. 

They  would  never  hide  their  faces 
In  that  sober,  solemn  way. 

Laughing,  puzzled,  little  Nell ! 
How  could  such  a  baby  know 


J32  THANKSGIVING. 

'T  was  the  cheery,  sunny  gladness 
That  had  bowed  their  heads  so  low; 

That  the  blithesome,  happy  home-life, 
Birdie  singing  on  the  wall, 

And  the  laughing  little  mischief, 
Made  them  thank  the  God  of  all. 


THERE  's  a  ship  on  the  sea.     It  is  sailing  to-night, 
Sailing  to-night! 

And  father  's  aboard,  and  the  moon  is  all  bright, 
Shining  and  bright! 

Dear  moon !  he  '11  be  sailing  for  many  a  night- 
Sailing  from  mother  and  me. 

Oh!  follow  the  ship  with  your  silvery  light, 
As  father  sails  over  the  sea ! 


OLD    SONGS. 

Alone  in  the  twilight  tender, 

I  plan  the  coming  days, 
While  the  supple  flames  are  lapping 

In  weird,  fantastic  ways ; 
When  out  of  the  startled  darkness 

There  springs  a  single  note, — 
And  the  first  light  strains  of  a  prelude 

Slow  into  the  silence  float. 

T  is  mother's    touch  !      How   quietly  she  always  en 
ters  in ! 
With  child-like  throb   I   listen   now  to  hear  the   song 

begin: 
"Roy's   wif*  of  Aldivalloch ! "     Ah,  me!     The  woful 

shame ! 
And  "  how  she  cheated  him  '*  I  learn  with  honest  ire 

and  blame. 

And  then  a  moment's   silence,   a   fallen  music-page — 
And  gone  all  thought  of  cruel  wife  and  sorry  lover's 
rage. 

133 


134  OLD  I  SONGS. 

The  shadowy  parlor-w^flls  grow  wide  and  change  to 

meadows  fair, 
For  the  sweet  "  JPifri'ufaiiWfc  of  Scotland"   are   waving 

in  the  air. 
The  summer  sky  is   over   them,  the   fragrant   breezes 

blow, 
But,   ere  they  fade,  the  voice  begins  in  cadence  sad 

and  slow. 
"  Whafs    this    dull   town   to   me  ?  "    it   sings.      "  Ah, 

what  indeed,"  I  sigh, — 
For    "  Robin     is    not    here "    it    sobs,    in    plaintive, 

broken  cry. 
Poor,  lonely  lassie  !   weeping  sore.     My  heart  is  with 

her  still, 
When  suddenly,  in  changeful    mood,   there    comes   a 

martial  thrill;  , 

And   now  I  know   that   through  the   land  one  burst 

of  fervor  rings, 
As  "  Who  '//  be  king   but   Charlie  ?  "  the  sweet  voice 

faintly  sings. 

Ah,  good  it  is  to  listen  here,  in  flitting  shadows  hid !  — 
Till    comes  a  silken  rustle ;    and  then  with  folded  lid 


OLD  SONGS.  135 

The  old  piano  silent  stands, — and  the  entry's  swing 
ing  light 

Reveals  the  tall,  retreating  form,  framed  in  the  door- 
way  bright.  _ 

Only  a  moment.  Vanished  now  the  softly-kerchiefed 
gown; 

And  once  again,  the  firelight  chasing  shadows  up 
and  down, 

Is  all  I  see,  as  thoughtfully  I  lift  the  warm  brass 
tongs, 

And  turn  the  embers  over  to  the  echoes  of  old 
songs. 


THE    NIGHTLY    REST. 

A  FOLDING  darkness  hangs  before  the  dawn, 
Twin  curtain  with  our  sleep ; 

And  when  they  part,  with  mystic,  dreamy  sweep, 
The  Day  smiles  in  our  face,  and  we  awake, 
Ready  once  more  life's  noisy  ways  to  take 
Till  by  sweet  Night  the  folds  again  are  drawn. 


136 


